


bend me and claim me

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Series: Our Dreams Wide Open [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 04:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18909280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. The Inquisitor and Dorian make sure to have a well-balanced "meal" together in the morning.





	bend me and claim me

**Author's Note:**

> SMUT AHOY. 
> 
> Okay it's just a lot of smut. Like, nothing but smut. 
> 
> Also probably the last bit of drabble I'll be writing for a while. Apartment hunting and building costumes takes up a lot of time. :) 
> 
> I hope you guys like this! 
> 
> -M

“Please tell me you are going to the War Table in nothing but those boots and tight leather breeches, amatus.” 

Mahanon, shirtless and in the process of lacing said breeches, snorts and turns to meet the sleepy eyes of his lover. 

“If I did, I think Cullen might faint from shock,” he quips, smirking when Dorian chuckles and stretches lightly in the bed before sitting up on his knees. He wanders over, snatching up the dark green shirt he’d set out for his morning briefing the night before, but he makes no move to pull it on. 

Instead, he watches Dorian’s hungry eyes tracking him from the shadows of his massive four poster bed. 

“Those boots…” Dorian swallows thickly and glances from the black, supple thigh-high leather, to Mahanon’s stoic, tattooed face. “Paired with those silver piercings in your nipples...Amatus.” 

“Definitely the look the Herald of Andraste should show off, hm?” Mahanon chuckles, marked left hand rising to toy with one ring. His lips curl in a knowing smirk when Dorian’s hungry eyes lock on his fingers. “The Orlesians would certainly have something to say about it, if I showed up in court like this.”

“So wild,” Dorian hums, reaching out to run his fingers along the cuffed top of the boot, dangerously close to juncture of hip and thigh. He licks his lips absently when he catches sight of the telltale bulge growing before his eyes. “So very naughty.” 

“Do you like naughty elves, Master Pavus?” Mahanon murmurs, a faint growl in his voice, shirt forgotten at the sight of Dorian drawing closer, perfectly eye-level with his stirring cock. “Like it when we get...a little wild in this bed?”

Dorian snorts, fingers trailing from boot to the leather laces just begging to be untied and glances up at the other man. 

“Pillow talk? Really? How very modern of you,” he teases, leaning closer so the warmth of his mouth can be felt through the thin leather of his lover’s pants. “But yes...Yes I do rather enjoy naughty, wild elves, Inquisitor Lavellan. Or at least,” he grins and presses his mouth to the other man’s groin, running his tongue along the hard ridge growing more solid beneath its bindings. “One particular naughty elf…” 

Mahanon, jaw clenching tight as he tries to keep from thrusting forward into Dorian’s hot, eager mouth, rests his hand in the other mage’s hair instead and tugs his head back, growling, “You are going to make me late to my briefing, ma vhenan.” 

Dorian smirks, the tip of his tongue darting out to press at the corner of his lips, nose full of the musky scent of Mahanon’s arousal. 

“You started it, wearing those boots and those breeches, nothing else, in front of me, sweet,” he purrs, making a show of arching his naked torso before Mahanon. Pleasure, white-hot and untamed, washes through him when Mahanon’s eyes lock on Dorian’s hands. Dorian drags them slowly up his body, fingers toying with his own unpierced nipples and he chuckles. “You weren’t thinking of skipping breakfast, were you, amatus?” he says, voice pitched low. His cock, for now, entangled in the bed’s sheets, stirs when Mahanon bites back a frustrated growl. “You do know it is the most important meal of the day.” 

The teasing in his voice is almost choked off by the absolute desire he feels for his slender, elven lover. 

But Mahanon knows him well. 

Knows the game he is playing. 

“Tease,” the Dalish mage murmurs. “You know Josephine always brings me tea and something to break my fast for these meetings.” He claims his mouth in a heated kiss, tongue forcing its way past Dorian’s lips, to press against his own. Both men moan, eyes fluttering, joint desire washing over their flushed bodies. 

Dorian pants, eyes fluttering when Mahanon’s mouth leaves his and begins trailing heated, nipped kisses over his jaw and throat, lingering at the pulse thundering in his throat. “Lucky man,” he breathes, trembling hand rising to press against the hardening length in Mahanon’s pants, fingers teasing lightly along the leather lacings. “Such a beautiful woman making a point of satisfying you, every early morning at that war table.” 

Mahanon snorts, and if Dorian’s eyes weren’t busy feasting on his own particular favorite morning snack, he’d probably catch the Inquisitor rolling his eyes at his terrible innuendo. 

“Really, Dori-” he starts but his words choke off with a broken moan, head thrown back on his shoulders the moment Dorian’s mouth settles on his clothed length and begins to suck through the leather. “Ah, by the Dread Wolf,” he snarls, fingers clenching tight in Dorian’s hair. “Fuck, vhenan…”

“Believe me,” Dorian mutters, words muffled by twitching, leather-bound erection. “I am hoping that can happen. I, after all, won’t have a chance to break my fast until much later.” 

“Fen’Harel ma halam,” Mahanon snarls, reaching with his free hand between them and making quick work of unlacing his pants. “You don’t even like southern breakfast foods, Dorian Pavus,” he groans, eyes fluttering closed when Dorian takes over, fingers trailing hungrily up his thighs to grip the base of his aching cock. 

“Nonsense,” Dorian hums, chuckling when Mahanon’s hips twitch instinctively, bringing him closer to Dorian’s heated mouth. Mahanon’s leg lifts, pressing into the plush mattress and between his grip in Dorian’s hair and the bracketing of thigh and curtained bed, the altus finds himself hemmed in. 

He very nearly purrs at the thought, reaching down to finally free his own leaking member from the bundle of sheets it’d been wrapped in. 

“I quite enjoy some southern breakfasts,” he says, grinning before leaning forward to run his tongue along the underside of Mahanon’s cock. His eyes close in bliss at the salty, musky taste of his lover, tongue swirling for a moment along the hooded tip, teasing. “I rather like those long sausages these Ferelden types always like to eat in the morning.” 

Mahanon actually starts laughing at that, bright green eyes sparkling when he pulls Dorian’s head back enough so their gazes can meet. 

“Sausage?” he sputters, cheeks warming so the green lines tracing his skin seem to glow in the bright morning sunshine. “Seriously, Dorian? Mythal’s tears…”

Dorian smirks and tightens his fingers along the girth he still holds in place, ignoring the bite of Mahanon’s fingers in his hair. 

“Yes,” he says, lips brushing the tip once more, pulling the hood back enough for his tongue to trail through the precum glistening there. “I quite enjoy those little morsels.” 

“Dread Wolf take you,” Mahanon growls, grip tightening and hips thrusting so that his cock brushes against Dorian’s teeth. “Stop playing games ma vhenan.” 

Dorian’s mouth waters at the hungry frustration he hears in his lover’s voice and raising his eyes once more to meet Mahanon’s, he takes his length between his lips, suckling lightly. His tongue swirls along the underside of Mahanon’s twitching cock and he would smile, if he could, at the sight of the other man’s eyes closing and his head arching back, corded muscles of his throat popping as he seeks to remain still. 

He is so beautiful, Dorian thinks, hand starting to work him over, mouth leaving enough moisture along Mahanon’s heated flesh to keep the friction just on this side of comfortable. I want him to fall apart this morning, before going to his advisors. Kaffas…

His throat muscles work when Mahanon’s cock finally reaches the back of his throat and breathing deeply, he swallows him down, eyes fluttering when his lover’s fingers stroke gently through his hair. 

“Valath ma vhenan,” Mahanon purrs, dark eyes lit with pleased hunger. “Svae’thlan ma Mythal’te.” 

He rocks his hips slowly, gently, thrusting himself against the back of Dorian’s throat and only the desire to please, to taste, keeps the altus from gagging on his length. Fingers trail through Dorian’s hair, even as Dorian’s fingers work him over, pushing him impossibly deeper. Neither man cares for the mess Dorian’s mouth leaves on Mahanon’s unlaced breeches, over Dorian’s jaw. 

Dorian hums, eyes fluttering, his own cock heavy with his own desire and as Mahanon’s thrusts grow shorter, quicker, he reaches his hand up, cupping Mahanon’s tightening balls. Meeting the other man’s heated, blissed gaze, he squeezes his fingers lightly.

“Fen’Harel dathar vhen,” Mahanon curses, baring his teeth in a snarl and surprising Dorian he draws back, freeing his cock from Dorian’s lips. “Enough,” he says, voice rough, fucked. “I need another sort of meal, this morning.” 

He pushes Dorian onto his back, yanking him close to the edge of the bed and falling to his knees before the altus. 

“Put your legs over my shoulders,” he orders, licking his lips when he takes in the sight of Dorian’s erection-leaking and engorged-arching over the elegant planes of his belly. Dorian does, breathing heavily, and he pulls Mahanon closer, eyes locked on the Dalish man’s full, glistening lips. 

Mahanon smirks and reaches for the bottle of oil resting on the bedside table. Dorian hums at the sight of the other mage slicking his fingers, skin bumping in anticipation when Mahanon reaches for him. 

“Such a tease,” Mahanon growls, trailing soft kisses up Dorian’s thigh, making his way up the tensed muscles of his body. “What excuse shall I give Josie for my tardiness today?” He hums again, smirking when Dorian moans and murmurs something in unknown Tevene. 

The slick sound of Mahananon palm sliding over his cock almost sends him over the edge but then Mahanon’s lips close over the tip and his back arches. 

“Amatus,” he breathes, fingers clenching tight in the sheets, his eyelids fluttering when Mahanon’s tongue swirls over his slit, sucking at the steady leaking of seed there. “Yes, like that…”

Mahanon hums, deep in his throat, vibrations running through Dorian’s very core and he shudders when a single, callused finger drags slowly along his vein, over his tightening balls, and further still. He curses, back arching when Mahanon’s finger circles his tight hole. The other mage chuckles low when Dorian very nearly starts to fuck his face. 

The slick sound of Mahanon’s mouth working him deeper is distracting, but not as distracting as the warm finger pressing gently against his rim. 

“Please, amatus,” he begs, eyes rolling and muscles tensing, every nerve singing for his release. For Mahanon’s hot breadth to fill him and press into that dark, secret spot deep within. 

Every part of him wishes for Mahanon’s lips, tasting of Dorian’s seed. 

“Please what?” the other mage asks, releasing Dorian’s cock with a faint pop of his lips, his voice rough and mouth gloriously reddened. Both hands grip Dorian’s shaking thighs, spreading them even wider, the better to spread his ass cheeks. “What do you want me to do to you, altus?”

His fingers bite painfully into Dorian’s slick skin and the Tevinter man sighs, idly wishing for Mahanon’s absent finger to press into his hole once more. 

“I-I,” he pants, seeking the words he needs through the fucked fog filling his brain. Mahanon waits, kneeling patiently before him, small, knowing smirk curling his lips. “I want your mouth on my cock, I want you to suck me off,” he pants, eyes finally focusing on the other man. On the soft love in his eyes. “And then I want you to fuck me before you head off to your important war briefing.” 

Mahanon is quiet for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable and Dorian shudders, every cell on his body focusing on the sensation of his lover’s thumbs rubbing gentle circles on his overheated skin. Of the soft breath washing over his sensitive cock. 

“I can do that,” he says finally, his voice soft, gentle. 

Loving. 

And before Dorian can even gather his wits enough to thank him, Mahanon’s lips close over his cock once more and he begins to suck, groaning when his lips stretch wide and the tip hits the back of his throat. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Dorian soothes, reaching down to stroke his fingers over his lover’s braided hair. “Like that.” 

He moans, body arching once more and he thrusts into Mahanon’s mouth. Mahanon grunts, eyes watering a bit at the assault, simply grips his hips harder, holding him in place and bobs his head, giving Dorian the slick friction he needs. 

Dorian, feeling his climax drawing near, pants and whimpers, every nerve firing with too much sensation. 

His back arches, heels anchored against his lover’s back and Mahanon moans, thrusting two fingers past the tight muscles of Dorian’s rim. 

“Ahhh,” Dorian cries out, fingers clenched in Mahanon’s hair and the tangled sheets, all sensation falling away when the fingers deep in his ass scissor wide, stretching his hole wide. “Yes,” he sighs, soft keen in his voice as he comes, seed spilling in hot bursts across Mahanon’s tongue. “Yes, amatus, yes.”

The Dalish man swallows his seed, eyes slitting closed as he works the twitching cock in his mouth, very nearly purring when Dorian pants his name. 

“My turn,” he murmurs, voice nothing but a rasp and Dorian, still rocking the aftershocks of pleasure, shudders at the sight of his Dalish lover licking his slicked lips, dark eyes hungry as they watch him. 

Mahanon, hands tight on the back of his thighs, leans over him to press a heated kiss to Dorian’s lips. Both men moan when the taste of Dorian’s musk fills each of their mouths and Dorian hums his name, burying his fingers in his hair for a moment. 

He gasps though, eyes flying wide when Mahanon’s hands tighten on his hips, the elf growling something as he flips him onto his belly, oil slick fingers of his left hand sliding down his back to grip the back of his neck. 

“On your knees,” Mahananon growls in his ear, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of his throat. “I want to see you on your knees, ma vhenan.” 

Dorian shudders, eyes fluttering when that hand at his neck tightens, the other hand at his hip helping him rise and get into position. The mattress dips a bit as Mahanon-still wearing his boots and now ruined breeches-comes up behind him, his cock sliding along the cleft of Dorian’s ass, slicking his oiled skin even further. 

“You are so beautiful like this,” Mahanon murmurs, hand smoothing down Dorian’s arched back and lips close over the divots of his hips, nipped kisses peppering his glistening skin. “I could feast on yo like this all day.”

Dorian chuckles, eyes closing in bliss when his lover’s fingers trail along his ass and once more begin circling his aching, empty hole. “And why don’t you,” he asks, daring a little to thrust back against that hand still teasing. “You’re the Inquisitor,” he pants, fingers clenching in the blankets when Mahanon’s teeth close on the meaty part of his hip, claiming him. “You can do as you wish, surely?”

Mahanon chuckles, swirling his tongue over the bruising love bite and reaches for the bottle of oil once more. 

“I’m sure Josephine would not agree with you, ma vhenan,” he says, pouring a measure of oil over his fingers. Dorian watches him from the corner of his eye, skin bumping at the reverence he sees in his lover’s eyes. In the care he takes to warm the faintly smelling elfroot oil glistening over his fingers. 

The sight of Mahanon taking up his cock-much thicker than Dorian’s own-makes his mouth water and he shuffles absently, ass yearning towards the other man as he murmurs a soft curse, begging in Tevene for anything and everything. 

Begging to be filled. Begging to be taken. 

Begging…

“Fuck me, Mahanon,” he moans, back arching and hips rising higher, a beast in heat, begging to be claimed.

To be topped. 

“Fuck me and go to your War Table, smelling of me, thinking of me,” he whines, eyes rolling when Mahanon’s hands still his hips, fingers biting into his hip bones, bruising the sensitive skin there. 

“I always think of you like this when I stand at the War Table,” Mahanon growls in his ear, taking up his cock and pressing the tip to Dorian’s oil slicked hole. “One day I’ll fuck you on that map.” 

His words light a fire of longing in Dorian’s belly and his cock, already semi-hard, twitches, over-sensitive to the faint friction of the sheets he’s pressed into. 

“Kaffas,” he breathes, panting and whining, half-crazed at the imagery of himself being bent over that massive table his lover spends so much time studying but before he can say anything else, Mahanon’s hand tightens on his hip. 

And with another measure of oil spread across his cock and over Dorian’s hole, he slides into place with a whispered curse. 

The force of his thrust rocks Dorian forward, the friction wakening his own cock and he sobs, panting and whining. 

“Easy,” Mahanon grits out, forehead pressing to the small of his back. “Easy, ma vhenan.” 

The faint burn of being stretched around Mahanon’s hard cock is barely noticed. Dorian breathes, eyes fluttering when the tip of his lover’s cock presses up agains that dark spot deep within, rolls of pleasure starting to wash over his skin. 

“What-what are you waiting for?” he breathes, eyes fluttering open and he meets the heated gaze of his lover, smile curling his lips when he catches the faint traces of worry on his tattooed forehead. “Fuck me, Mahanon.” 

That is all the affirmation Mahanon needs. 

With a snarled elvhen curse, the man draws out of Dorian, fingers biting once more into his tan skin and with a snap of his hips he drives into Dorian once more. 

His thrusts are brutal, quick, efficient. 

He drives Dorian deep into the bed, bending over him so their heated and sweat-slicked skin slides and presses together. He claims him. 

Maker.

Mahanon Lavellan claims him, sharp teeth nipping and twisting into Dorian’s twitching skin, fingers trailing heated, bruising caresses over his pleasure-wakened body. 

Dorian breathes deeply, relishing the fire of Mahanon’s love-making, every nerve-every cell-narrowed on his lover and the cock hammering deep into his ass, hitting his core with every hard thrust. 

He comes again, cock twitching and spilling a small measure of seed into the sweat-stained sheets and he whines, legs trembling and on the verge of collapse. 

“I have you,” Mahanon grunts, one hand catching his hips, the other pressing into the bed and he eases Dorian around so his back presses into the mattress now. “Let me look at you,” he murmurs, smile softening as he leans over Dorian. His fingers trail across Dorian’s cheek and he leans over him to claim his lips in a gentle kiss.

His thrusts are shorter now, with their changed position and Dorian murmurs his name, shaking legs wrapping around his waist, shuddering when the slide of his lover’s cock strikes his core in a new way now. 

“Come for me, amatus,” he says, reaching up to tangle his fingers in the complicated braid at the back of his lover’s head. “Let me see you come in me.” 

“Dread Wolf take you,” Mahanon groans, hips stuttering and eyes flickering closed as his own orgasm washes over him. 

The heated wash of his seed spilling deep in Dorian’s ass makes the altus moan, back arching and both men thrust in time together, Dorian’s hole fluttering and drawing Mahanon’s cock deeper. 

Mahanon grunts, arms trembling and he bows over Dorian, short thrusts rocking their chests together and he buries his face in his lover’s neck, murmuring his name as Dorian draws every bit of his come out. 

“Precious man,” Dorian hums, eyes slitting closed with his own warm pleasure and he strokes the dark head of his lover. “Precious, beautiful, gorgeous man. You complete me.” 

Mahanon sighs, lips seeking the slowing pulse in Dorian’s neck and he kisses him gently, eyelids fluttering with the wash of aftershocks rocking him as his cock softens. 

“Pillow talk, vhenan?” he murmurs, smiling and drawing free of Dorian’s ass, arms wrapping tight around his lover’s waist. “Really?” 

Dorian simply smiles, eyes closing. 

“I think someone is coming up the stairs to fetch you, amatus,” he murmurs, fingers trailing over his lover’s trembling arms. “I do believe you missed breakfast.” 

“Hmm,” Mahanon hums, ears pricking when he hears familiar heels clattering up his stairs and an Antivan accent calling his name. “Josie’s breakfasts will never compare to the one I just had, ma vhenan” he says, rising from the bed the moment the ambassador’s messenger starts to knock on his door. 

Dorian chuckles, smiling as he watches his lover quickly lacing his pants and drawing his thankfully long tunic on. 

“Of course they won’t,” he says, grinning and stretching languorously in their sex-stained blankets. “Tevinter breakfasts are so much more satisfying.” 

Mahanon chokes back a laugh and shoots him a rude gesture, before slipping from the bedroom, greeting a shocked elven lass as he does. 

Dorian hums, fingers trailing over his sweat-slicked and aching body, smirking at the thought of his rumpled lover arriving in the war room, smelling of sex and Dorian. 

It’s enough to make his cock twitch in interest. 

“No second breakfast today, my friend,” he murmurs, stretching once more. “It’s very nearly lunchtime, I think.” 

He dresses slowly, already planning his surprise visit to the War Room. 

After all...lunch is as important of a meal as breakfast, isn’t it?


End file.
